Of Course Eames' Cared
by KeepCalmAndKeepWriting
Summary: Ariadne is depressed post-inception. Eames turns up on her door-step and makes life worth living again, bringing her back to reality- but, obviously, being Eames, he has more than friendship on his mind... Rated T for some adult situations
1. He Cared

**I know this is only a short part- but I've got a LOT more where this came from (more hurt/comfort/romance) Review if anyone is interested :)**

Ariadne had never asked Eames to move in with her. He had just sort of ended up spending most of his time there, and then, the other day, he had brought 2 large holdalls which presumably held most of his worldly possessions, and dumped then in a corner of Ariadne's room. She said nothing, because nothing needed to be said. I t wasn't like she wanted him to leave.

After Inception, Ariadne had learnt the hard way that after a job, there is a rule of no contact for 3 months. 3 whole, lonely months. She had gone back to her flat in Paris of course, because where else could she go? But nothing was the same. Her friends asked infinite questions that she couldn't answer, and they drifted away as a result. For a while, her grades slumped because she kept getting carried away creating fantastical designs that couldn't possibly exist in the real world. And she was so lonely. She missed Arthur and Eames' constant banter, she missed the subtle flirting with Arthur, the shy glances, half-smiles, and the not-so-subtle flirting with Eames, the winks, and lingering hands on her shoulders. Most of all though, she missed the company of people who knew everything about Dream-sharing, she was tired of not being able to talk about it openly.

Ariadne kept her totem on her at all times- in a small bag that she never took off. Once, some boys in the year below had stolen if for a dare- and Ariadne had gone slightly ballistic. In fact, she ended up screaming at them in corridor- which no doubt warded off any possible, future friends.

Now, she slept with her totem under her pillow.

Ariadne counted down the days for the three months to be up. On that day, she skipped class, and stayed at home, doing various chores and such, but with the phone at her side constantly.

'He will call, he will call,' she kept telling herself. Arthur had her number, she didn't have his. He _had _to be the first one to make contact.

But the day came and went in silence, and by 11pm, Ariadne slumped on the sofa, and cried, for the first time in 3 months.

A week passed. Ariadne made no effort to return to class, she poured all her energy into creating the most impossible buildings she could think of. Ones that were seemingly supported by thin air, and towering sky-scrapers that reached astronomical heights, and huge glass domes that sliced through the air, and...

She lost track of time.

His knock came late in the evening. Ariadne was lying on the sofa, exhausted, and didn't really take it in. She forced her limbs to co-operate, and managed to make it to her front door. She messed around with the lock for some time, swearing under her breath when she couldn't perform the simple action.

And then she pulled the door open.

And there he stood.

Just as she remembered. Tall, broad, and ruggedly handsome, with a fair amount of stubble, one large hand casually reaching around the back of his neck. There was a long thin cut above his eyebrow that hadn't been there before and was held together by butterfly stitches. And instead of a paisley shirt, he was dressed in scruffy jeans and a battered leather jacket, his mouth curved into a half-smile. A smile that vanished as he took in Ariadne's appearance.

"Christ Ari-what happened to you?" he asked, eyes raking up and down her frame. Ariadne felt instantly indignant, but then remembered she hadn't seen the light of day for a week now, had slept no more than 3 hours a night, and might have, maybe forgotten to eat for the past 2 days...

They stood there for a second, Eames frowning slightly, Ariadne staring at her bare-feet, until she suddenly realised that he was actually _here_ and she wasn't _alone anymore_. She glanced up to meet Eames' unwavering gaze, took a step forward and flung her arms around his neck, hugging him so tightly she never wanted to let go. 

Eames stumbled back a few paces, un-prepared for this sudden onslaught. He caught himself quickly though, and slowly returned Ariadne's fierce embrace, gently wrapping his arms around her small frame. She buried her face in his chest, and Eames felt her body shaking as she began to cry.

"Oh Ari..." he murmured into her hair, holding her tighter to him.

He had, of course, been in contact with Arthur before the 3 months were up. He had got a call from Cobb, who'd had a call from Miles to say he was worried about Ariadne. She wasn't taking it as well as they'd all assumed she would. 'Acts too bloody mature' Eames had told Arthur, who had also received the message. He had wanted to call her straight away, but, Arthur, forever bound by rules set in stone, had point blank refused. 3 months had been decided, and 3 months she would have to wait.

Eames however, was not bound by rules set in stone. His rules were more set in play-dough, and were, he considered, easily adjusted when they met an inconvenience. He didn't have Ariadne's number, but he knew what quarter of Paris she lived in, so, how hard could it be?

Actually, pretty hard, as he had discovered, and it had taken him much longer than anticipated. But, at least he was here now, and not a moment too soon, he thought, as Ariadne's sobs showed no sign of stopping.

He manoeuvred them out of the corridor as gently as he could; kicking the door behind him shut once they were in the apartment. He surveyed it briefly over her head, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Every spare surface and a large proportion of the floor was covered in huge pieces of paper, full of complicated sketches and diagrams. Then, he pulled her over to the sofa, and sat down. She stayed standing for a second longer, as though overcome by the fact that he was really there. He watched her carefully. She really did look awful. Her face was pale, and her eyes red-rimmed, with dark bags underneath them, her cheekbones gaunt.

He cursed himself again for not harassing Arthur more. He was going to have serious words with him the next time they met...

Ariadne sat down next to him, and curled into his chest, taking hold of his shirt in her hand.

Eames sighed, wrapping an arm round her, gently stroking her back with the wide pad of his thumb.

They stayed like that until Ariadne drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 

Eames fitted into Ariadne's life very quickly. For the first few days, they barely spoke, except when he ordered her to sleep or eat. He cooked meals for her, made her smile when he winked at her while they ate, and each night she fell asleep in his arms on the sofa.

Then, one day, he sat her down with a cup of tea, and surveyed her from across the table.

"Ari- I think we should talk. Not that I mind staying in your really rather comfortable apartment free of charge, but-"he spoke gently, as though not wanting to scare her off.

"Eames- it's nothing, honestly, I haven't been very well recently, and..." she tailed off, willing herself to think of a decent excuse.

"Oh, I think it's fair to say you've been out-of-sorts, but how do explain all these?" and he gestured to the huge pile of sketches that he'd collected up from around her apartment.

"College project," she mumbled, reluctant to meet his eye. His gaze was unavoidable now, and when she looked up, he raised an eyebrow at her reasoning.

He didn't accuse her. But he did stretch a hand across the table, and gently prise Ariadne fingers away from her tea-cup, before enveloping her hand in a warm gesture of comfort.

She sighed. She had no hope keeping secrets from him.

"I...I miss it, I miss creation and all the impossibilities and I get so _frustrated_ that I can't talk to anyone about it, and I missed _you_, and the team and I wish so bad that I was doing another job, and these past few months have just been _horrid_, and-" she was getting more and more choked up.

"Shh...It's okay; it's all alright Ari," he said softly, "You're not alone anymore."


	2. Things Heating Up

**(Okay- I couldn't wait for any reviews, so here is the next bit :) Hope you like it!)**

That night, Eames lay on the sofa, unable to sleep. He couldn't stop going over their conversation. Poor thing. She was still so young and naive. Now that he thought about it, it was practically criminal for Cobb to have dragged her into all this in the first place... He really was going to have to talk with Arthur about how she was coping. Arthur would know the best way to handle it. Right now, Eames was just sort of following his instincts.

A loud thump from Ariadne's room on the other side of the apartment stopped his train of thought. He frowned, listening to the silence, but he heard nothing. Eames pulled his blanket away, and swung himself from the sofa. He padded quietly across the room.

"Ari?" he called softly, but no answer came.

The door was slightly ajar, which he took as a sign she wasn't in some state of inappropriate dress, not that _that_ bothered Eames...

He pushed the door open, and chuckled under his breath at the sight that met his eyes. Ariadne was curled in a foetal position on the floor. She'd clearly been having a restless night, and the noise he'd heard had been her falling off her bed. To be honest he was surprised she hadn't woken, but she had somehow managed to land on her duvet, which was half-draped across her.

Eames gave a small sigh and leant against the doorframe. She looked even more fragile than before, in the blissful state of sleep, dark hair falling across her face, her hands slightly curled over her head, protecting herself, her nightie hitched up around her hips, revealing a little too much upper thigh than was strictly suitable... Eames crossed the room before his thoughts took him any further down that road.

He knelt down next to her, watching briefly the steady rise and fall of her chest. Carefully, he manoeuvred his arm under her legs, and caught her head with his other arm, as he slowly lifted her up, trying to make the movement as smooth as possible, so as not to wake her. Ariadne groaned in protest, and tightened her grip round the back of his neck, but Eames was already laying her down on the bare bed.

"It's alright darling, only me," he murmured gently, and she let go of his neck with a sigh. He picked up the duvet from the floor, and laid it out across her, watching as she pulled it instinctively towards her, curling up again.

Eames smiled, and stood there for another long moment, unable to pull himself away, before leaving the room as silently as he had arrived. 

But things had definitely changed after their conversation. Ariadne felt lighter, happier, now that she had got everything off her chest, and Eames just made things better. He made her laugh, he made her smile, and when, just occasionally, she caught him staring at her, he made her feel... _special_.

Soon she was back at college, but Eames didn't leave. He wandered round Paris, and although Ariadne said that he didn't need to stay (all the while thinking 'Please don't go, please don't leave me, because I just _can't_ take it) he insisted that wandering was something he had always wanted to do, but had never had the time for. She knew he was only saying it to make her feel better. She was grateful for it though.

By then, around a month after Eames had turned up at her flat, the flirting started. It was subtle at first, although Eames, in general, wasn't very good at subtle flirting. Ariadne played along, not only because it was utterly adorable to tease him, and get his hopes up before wandering away, but because she couldn't deny that he was _ridiculously_ attractive.

They were watching a film, and, as was usual, Ariadne was curled into Eames' side. She was pretending to watch the film, because for the past 15 minutes she had become completely distracted by the fact Eames was playing with a strand of her hair. Twirling it around his fingers. Actually, it was quite comforting, but Ariadne saw an opportunity to wind him up.

"Stop it," she said quietly.

Eames stopped instantly, but then seemed to weigh up the likelihood of how angry she actually was, so resumed the twirling.

"Eames- don't make me annoyed..." she warned, fighting to keep the laughter out of her voice.

He paused, leaning slight forward to whisper in her ear, "Or what darling?"

"You asked for it..." she muttered, before swiftly moving out from underneath his arm, swinging her leg over his knee so she was sat straddling his lap.

Eames stared at her in astonishment, un-moving. He lifted his hands as though to put them on her hips, but thought better of it.

"Okay... unexpected development," he said, his voice quavering slightly.

Ariadne leaned forward so quickly Eames almost flinched, touching her forehead to his. His breath fanned across her face, and she closed her eyes.

"Ari..." he murmured gruffly, "are you sure you want to do this? Because there's going to be a point when I cannot be held responsible for my actions-"

"Shut up," she whispered, pressing a finger against his lips. He stopped talking instantly, but it didn't stop his gaze darting to her lips and back.

She smiled at how unfairly easy it was to seduce him.

"Good-night Eames," she said softly, before pulling away and climbing off him despite his hand on her wrist.

She laughed at his groan of frustration, and then ducked at the sofa cushion he threw at her.

"I bloody hate you," he grumbled from the sofa, and Ariadne laughed again.

"I know you do," she sang, as she stepped into her bedroom, and locked the door.

Another cushion hit it a few seconds later. 

However, it was clear that Eames was _not_ usually the one being teased, and Ariadne knew it would only be a matter of time before he found a way to get back at her. It was really quite exciting, Ariadne thought with a smile, she knew Eames was _making_ her wait.

A few days later, Ariadne was doing the washing-up. It was all very well spending her time enjoying the effects of a large pay check with a charming English-man, particularly now the term at College had finished, but mundane chores were something she couldn't escape from. Eames had told her she was stupid to not have bought a dish-washer, but Ariadne didn't really mind washing. It didn't require effort, or concentration like cooking or ironing.

The door opened and closed with a familiar bang.

"Honey, I'm home!" came the dreadful attempt at American accent from the living room.

Ariadne laughed, but didn't turn round as Eames dumped shopping bags on the table.

"Ah- playing the domestic housewife today I see? Jolly good," he said as he came up behind her.

Ariadne swivelled round, flicking soap-suds at his face. She turned back to the washing with a grin.

"Don't be such a sexist pig, _don't_ call me your _wife_, and please, don't ever try to do an American accent again, otherwise I'll-" Ariadne stopped abruptly as Eames suddenly was pushed up against her back, his hands on either side of the sink blocking her exits.

His lips were dangerously close to her cheek, and Ariadne couldn't help but lean back against him, her eyes closing.

"As long as, _darling_, **you** don't go all irresponsibly seductive again, lean in for a kiss, not follow through with it, and then walk away from me; because I don't take that very well." He muttered huskily into her ear, and Ariadne shuddered.

He moved in closer, pressing her against the sink, to the point it almost hurt.

"Do we have a deal?" he whispered again, lightly brushing a kiss against her exposed collar-bone. Ariadne couldn't possibly answer, Christ- it was taking enough effort just to keep _breathing_. Her heart was hammering against her ribs.

"Ariadne, I'm going to have to insist that you give me an answer," he kissed the side of her neck, and now Ariadne was actually grateful that he was so close to her, because she was pretty sure if he wasn't practically holding her up right now, she would fucking _collapse_ on the floor.

"Yes," she managed through shaking breaths, "of course we have a deal you idiot. It's not like I really have a choice is it?" She was gaining control again, and Eames sensed it.

"My thoughts exactly," he murmured, and Ariadne could just _hear_ the smirk behind his words, before he pulled away, and left her there, clutching the side of the sink.


	3. It hurts Eames

**:D Merci beaucoup for the very nice reviews so far... :) Well- I'm not going back on my promise, so here's the next part- a bit more hurt/comfort... Oh- and if anyone had any prompts they'd like me to have a go at- leave it in a review.**

Things pretty much escalated from there. It wasn't long before Eames had managed to wheedle his way into Ariadne's bed. Not that she minded _that _in the slightest. Ariadne was faintly amused that it was _Eames_ she was with- not Arthur as she had dreamed about during the preparation leading up to the Fisher job. Arthur did call, eventually, but Ariadne didn't actually get to talk to him, Eames picked up the phone. He didn't call again. In a way, Ariadne was grateful- if Arthur was in the equation, it would just get too much. Right now, she just appreciated Eames' company. And his crude jokes. And his kisses. Yes, she definitely appreciated those. Ariadne also dared to hold onto the wonderful notion that he didn't seem to be leaving anytime soon either.

It was a late November afternoon, the autumnal sunlight pouring into the apartment, giving everything a hazy amber glow. Ariadne was writing a shopping list for the week, and Eames was watching at her. She pretended not to notice because she secretly enjoyed being stared at.

Eames was taking great pleasure in observing the effects of the sunlight on Ariadne's features. Her dark hair was high-lighted, and the fly-away wisps resembled spun gold, creating something resembling a halo around her face. Her skin glowed, and her lips were cast into slight shadow, drawing his attention to them.

After some time however, Ariadne had had enough of being surveyed. She put down her pen and glanced up at Eames through her long lashes.

"Hello darling," he murmured his voice soft yet still surprisingly loud in the stillness that had been constant for the last 10 minutes.

"You're staring," she told him, lifting her head up, a half-smile ghosting her lips.

"That I am," he replied with a grin, not bothering to deny it.

"Come on," Ariadne said with a sigh, pushing back her chair and reaching for her coat from the back of the sofa.

"Why? Where are we going?" asked Eames pouting. He was quite happy where he was.

Ariadne laughed at him. "You haven't been out all day- you need some fresh air," she told him firmly, and passed him his coat and scarf. "It's cold outside!" she said at his raised eyebrow.

"You sound just like my mother..." he muttered darkly, yanking on his coat with a little too much force, and pulling Ariadne into his side, hand around her hip, as they left the apartment. 

Ariadne was right though. Despite the inviting warm glow of the afternoon sun, the air was bitingly cold, and in the shade it was practically arctic. Ariadne pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, against the bitter breeze. Eames grinned at her.

"What?" she said, eyebrow raised.

"Rudolph," he laughed gesturing to her pink nose; she glared at him briefly, then hit him round the head with her hat.

They walked down the leafy streets around Ariadne's apartment in comfortable silence until they reached the nearest park. The ground was a blanket of leaves of every shade, burnt orange, fiery red, smouldering yellow, and, occasionally, a brief flash of green peeking through. The park was practically empty, excluding a loved-up couple smooching on a bench. Ariadne blushed as she realised that to anyone else looking on, taking in Eames' arm wrapped protectively around her middle and her head on his shoulder, they would appear just like them- a loved-up couple. And they would be right she supposed. Only, she and Eames were not a stereo-typical couple. That much was certain.

A street vendor was selling mulled wine and roasted chestnuts on the corner of the park. The warming, rich smell drifted through the air, and Ariadne found herself instinctively walking towards the stall, dragging Eames with her. He frowned at her- "Mulled wine? Really?"

"Please Eames," she begged, employing her best puppy dog eyes.

Eames tried, he really did, but he had to admit that if Ariadne wanted something and gave him _that_ look- he was pretty much defenceless. He gave an exaggerated sigh, and bought two ridiculously huge pint-size cups of steaming mulled wine.

They sat on a bench overlooking the river to drink the wine. Ariadne necked hers back with impressive speed, despite its temperature, until she choked by accident. Eames hit her so hard on the back that she hit him back- and a mini war ensued. Eventually though, sitting on the bench got rather cold.

"Darling, my arse is completely numb and I'm _sure_ I'm going to lose my toes to frost-bite in a minute," he grumbled into her hair. Ariadne laughed, and hauled him to his feet, setting off along the path again, the wine having warmed her insides. Eames didn't stop complaining though, until she suddenly had an idea of how to shut him up. She pushed herself away from Eames, standing back. He looked offended.

"I know a way to warm you up..." she said, shaking her head disapprovingly as she instantly guessed what Eames' assumed she meant as a slow smile spread across his face. "No- I didn't mean _that._ Not _now_ anyway...When was the last time you played tig?" she asked carefully, grinning when his face lit-up, eyes suddenly alight with mischief.

"I'm on," he told her defiantly, "You've got 10 seconds."

Ariadne laughed, and stumbled backwards away from Eames, who was mouthing the numbers as he counted. A childish thrill filled Ariadne, and she turned on her heels, sprinting into the wooded area alongside the path, trying to suppress an uncontrollable shriek that threatened to escape her. There was something about being chased. Or, more specifically, being chased by _Eames_. The alcohol that was now well into her system probably wasn't helping either.

He caught up with her easily, of course, but didn't catch her straightaway. Eames knew more than anyone that the chase was often the best part. He caught her wrist several times, threatening to pull her onto the leaves, but she squirmed away giggling like she was 14 again, and left Eames shaking his head chuckling.

Soon though, Eames started to give a little more effort. He _was _trying to catch her now, and in the darkening woods, surrounded by shadowy trees; it suddenly seemed a lot more serious. Ariadne was tired from running and laughing, but the adrenalin pounding through her system kept her going.

When she thought she'd managed to put a suitable distance between her and Eames, she leant against a tree, breathing heavily, grinning like a fool. She stayed there for a long minute, straining her ears in the eerie quiet for the slightest hint that Eames was approaching. So hard was she listening, that she was _completely_ unprepared when a voice inches from her ear whispered, "Gotcha."

With a hysterical scream she tore off into the darkness, heart hammering, pulse audible in her ear, her mind entirely focused on _getting away_- so she didn't see the tree root.

To anyone watching, it was certainly an impressive fall. The sort that only happens in films. Ariadne practically flew through the air, landing hard on her hands as she put them out in front of her to stop her fall. She felt her left wrist give at once. The pain was immediate and blinding. She curled on the leaves, nursing the injured hand, swearing profusely.

"Ari! Darling, are you alright?" Eames fell to his knees next to her in a matter of seconds, pulling her up into a sitting position, his eyes searching her face anxiously. "What's wrong love?"

"My fucking wrist, that's what wrong," Ariadne spat, leaning into him and tightening her grip around her hand.

"Let me see," Eames said gently, slowly untangling her arms and gingerly lifting her wrist up to the dimming light, his fingers ghosting the already bruising area.

"Oh crap," moaned Ariadne flinching as he touched it, "it's broken isn't it?"

Eames sighed, "I'm afraid I think you're right darling... We best get you to hospital for an x-ray."

Ariadne didn't seem to register that part. She groaned into Eames' shoulder, pulling her wrist back towards her and wincing at the pain. "I knew it, I just bloody _knew_ it, and now I'm not going to be able to write for months, fuck- I'm not going to be able to _draw_ for months, they'll probably chuck me off the course at College, I was crap anyway, and if it never gets better, I have no chance of _ever_ getting a decent job-"

"Ari-"Eames started, trying to repress an amused smile- this was the alcohol talking now, but she ploughed on un-hearing.

"- they might even have to fucking _amputate, _and I'll never be able to wear those leather gloves my mum gave me, and I'll get funny looks in the street-"

Eames chuckled at that, tightening his hold around Ariadne's small frame.

"-and then I'll never be able to draw _again_, and if I can't draw I can't design buildings and I can't create mazes and then there is _no hope_ of you and Arthur asking me to do another job with you, and then you'll never have a reason to call me, or come and see me, and, oh Jesus, _you'll_ leave 'cause I'm _useless_ to you now, and I'll be all on my own again, talking to myself, sitting at home in the dark, and I'll get scared like I was before, and then _what is the point_ in even _living_ anymore if I have nothing to _live for? _And I might as well just _end_ it all _now_-"

"Don't talk like that," Eames said suddenly, his voice quiet, and despite the over-whelming sense of despair swamping Ariadne, something in his voice made her she shut-up. They sat there in silence for a few moments.

"Don't ever talk like that," he muttered again, before shifting from beneath her and clambering to his feet. He gently lifted her up, one arm under her good one. Ariadne glanced up at his face, but for once his expression was completely unreadable. He didn't meet her eyes.

"Can you walk?" he asked gruffly, and although she wanted to scoff Ariadne was surprised by how much her knees were shaking. Her legs felt weak, her wrist hurt like hell and it suddenly felt much colder.

"I think so. Hold me?" Christ, even her _voice_ sounded weak.

"Of course darling," and he wrapped an arm around her waist, securing her to him so she couldn't fall, "Right- let's go then."

And they began to make their way slowly from the darkening park.


	4. The Annoyingness of Broken Wrists

Having a broken wrist was actually bloody annoying, as Ariadne found out fairly quickly; particularly when it was her _dominant _hand that she suddenly had to survive without. She couldn't open doors, turn keys, write notes to herself, type, get the lids off tins, go to the loo easily or even fucking _dress herself_. Her arm was in cast up to her elbow, and she was supposed to wear a sling for 3 weeks. By the end of week 2 she swore she was going _insane._ Ariadne was not the most patient of people.

"I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE," Ariadne yelled in frustration into the darkness of her bedroom. It was early evening, and she was _meant_ to be going on a nice night out with her friends, and she was _meant_ to be introducing Eames to them as her official 'boyfriend' (it still sounded such a strange concept)- but how could she be expected to go in just her fucking _knickers?_

She stood, staring at the offending items of clothing. The bra was definitely the worst (why had she never bought a bra that did up at the front?) but she just knew that the figure-hugging black dress with a zip up the back would be an absolute _nightmare_ to put on_._ She'd been here for half-an-hour and was no closer to being ready than she had been at the start.

Her bedroom door opened, light falling across her messy floor, and Ariadne looked up to glare at Eames, who was slouching against the door-frame, hands in pockets, eyebrow raised.

"You called darling?" he asked innocently, which was slightly ironic considering the way his eyes were raking over her exposed body.

"Yes, I bloody did, now make yourself useful," Ariadne told him, gesturing to the bra with a scowl, turning her back on him.

She heard Eames chuckle softly, before making his way across the room to pick up the bra.

"You managed to cope without my help when you were putting _these_ on," he murmured, his fingers ghosting her bare hip, and lightly pinching the purple fabric of her knickers.

"Yeah, well , they're easier..." Ariadne replied, trying to keep her voice under control, because he _really_ shouldn't be having this much of an effect on her so quickly.

"Hmm- whatever you say darling. Now, arms out," and Ariadne obeyed, pulling her bandaged arm out of the sling.

To her annoyance, whenever Eames' skin touched hers, even if it was only for the briefest of moments, he left a trail of goosebumps, and soon she was struggling to keep breathing evenly. When he had finally got her arms through, being especially careful with the injured one (but still taking much more time than Ariadne was sure than necessary) and was pulling the straps behind her back, his thumb grazed the underside of her breast and Ariadne was unable to stop herself flinching away.

"Alright pet?" he whispered in her ear, and Ariadne shivered slightly.

"It never takes me this long to put on a bra normally," she muttered back, voice shaking slightly.

He laughed at that, his warm breath fanning across her bare back, and did up the clasp at the back with surprising skill.

"Right then, what's next?" he inquired jovially, and Ariadne turned to frown at him. "Unless you are prepared to go dressed like that, which, in my opinion, is perfectly acceptable considering how beautiful you look-"

"Dress," Ariadne told him, trying not to smile, pointing at the black garment by their feet. He squatted down in front of her.

He held out the dress by her feet. She stepped carefully into it, using Eames' shoulder as support and he glanced up at her. A smirk crossed his face, and Ariadne gave him a playful slap across the back of his head.

"What was that for?" he huffed frowning, pulling the dress up her legs and over her hips.

"You were staring. Again," she replied, grinning.

"Well, it's a very nice view from down there which is not _my_ problem, maybe you shouldn't wear such immensely flattering underwear- turn around darling." He had managed to get her arms through the sleeves much faster this time, and Ariadne raised an eyebrow at him, before turning her back to him.

The zip started at the small of Ariadne's back, an area of her body she knew Eames was particularly fond of, so she really should have been more prepared when he gently brushed that spot with the back of his hand. As it was, she wasn't prepared, and shuddered at his touch.

"Eames..." she sighed, if things got any further, she might be forced to postpone dinner, which she really didn't want to have to do. For the _third_ time.

"What?" he mumbled indignantly in reply, continuing to pull the zip up her back.

"You know exactly 'what', don't try to deny it," she laughed, but stopped short when he gently lifted her hair from the back of her neck to drape it over her shoulder. She suddenly felt very vulnerable, with her neck exposed to the cool air, and her skin tingled.

Eames stopped pulling the zip up, and there was a slight pause before Ariadne suddenly felt his breath close on the back of her neck, and then warm, soft lips. She tried not to gasp aloud. All too soon though, he was pulling away, and finished zipping up the dress.

Ariadne swung her hair back over shoulder, and turned to face him. Eames grinned at her, before reaching for her hips with his hands.

"Remind me to help you dress again," he said softly.

"Remind me to never let you," she replied, before, unable to resist temptation any longer, leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth.

Ariadne was lying on the sofa, arms crossed. Her face was set in a determined frown.

Her cast had been taken off the day before, and despite the wonderful freedom she now felt being able to _move_ her arm, it still felt a little tender, and Eames was insisting she rested. He was stood now at the foot of the sofa, grinning at her.

"You look adorable when you're cross," he told her fondly, easily dodging the sudden kick aimed at his groin as result of his words. She scowled at him fiercely.

"I hate you telling me what to do," she muttered under her breath, closing her eyes in annoyance.

"Ah- now don't lie to me Ari, I know you love it really," and his hand brushed against her cheek as he walked past the sofa.

"Where are you going?" she asked indignantly, eyes snapping open and turning her head awkwardly round to watch him reach for his coat.

"I, darling, am off to pick up the curry from across the road, remember?" he yanked on his coat, and flicked his wallet into the air, catching deftly with a smug grin. Ariadne rolled her eyes, trying not to smile. He turned to leave, but suddenly stopped with his hand on the door-knob, turning slowly to look at her.

"Now Ariadne, just because I'm letting you out of my sight for a minute does _not_ give you the right to go injuring your wrist again, alright?" He crossed the room towards her, and bent down to capture her lips upside-down in a chaste kiss. "Because you're not the only one who gets hurt when you're in pain," he murmured softly into her ear. And then he pulled away and the door was shutting behind him.

Ariadne lay on the sofa in the quiet apartment, unmoving. Eames had actually shown some _sentimentality_, even if it was in his own round-about way. He hurt to see her in pain. Ariadne groaned in frustration. Could this man _be_ anymore gorgeous?

After a few minutes however, the impact of Eames' words in her ear and his kiss lingering on his lips had subsided somewhat, and it dawned on Ariadne that, technically, she could do whatever she wanted. She jumped to her feet grinning, she could go open all the tins in the cupboard without Eames scolding her, she could strip naked and try on all of her different bras, she could _draw_ and get down on paper that under-water house design that had been rattling around in her brain for _weeks- _Now, this might sound like a strange list of things to be excited about doing, but Ariadne had desperately missed all the mundane things in life she hadn't been able to do.

Suddenly, a completely insane desire gripped Ariadne, and she almost laughed at the absurdity of it. When was the last time she had done a hand-stand? She had had no wish to do one with her arm in cast, but now that she _could..._Eames would kill her if he found out, but, as Ariadne so often realised, the idea of Eames being cross with her did not put her off. If anything, it made her want to do it even _more_.

Ariadne wasn't stupid. She knew too much pressure on her newly healed wrist could easily break it again, so she spent some time stretching it, and using the stress ball that was meant to be improving her strength. She also decided that it would be better that she did the hand-stand against the wall, partly because that would take some of the strain off her wrist, and partly because she wasn't quite confident that she could still _do_ a hand-stand without support. She must have been about 13 the last time she'd done one...

Ariadne settled on the blank, empty living-room wall besides the kitchen. Rubbing her hands together, she surveyed the wall briefly before setting down her hands shoulder-width apart a few inches away from the wall, and kicking hard upwards, sending her legs flying through the air and hitting the wall behind her with a rather un-elegant thump.

The blood instantly rushed to her head, and her wrist ached warningly, but Ariadne was still filled with some strange, child-like euphoria. She began to laugh. At that moment, she heard footsteps outside the apartment. Shit. Eames was back. She quickly tried to kick away from the wall, but her hands were too far forward, and she simply swung back against the wall. And why was she still laughing?

The door swung forward, and Eames stood in the thresh-hold, illuminated by the light from the corridor. He took in the scene. Ariadne, upside-down, standing on her hands (her bloody _injured hand) _against the wall, bright red in the face, her t-shirt hitched up under her bra, exposing her flat navel...

"Ari? What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he groaned, dropping the bags of curry onto the floor, and crossing the room.

"I can't...I can't get down," she managed through her near hysterical giggles.

"Yeah, I can see that darling," said Eames, shaking his head in disbelief, "I don't _believe_ you. Right- best get you the right way round then, shouldn't I?"

Ariadne shrieked when he suddenly bent down, wrapped his strong arms around her waist, and picked her up, still upside down. She tried to protest, but she was laughing too much.

Eames walked awkwardly over to the sofa, and managed to drop her down on it the right way round, before he sort of fell onto it himself. For a brief moment, Ariadne thought he might crush her, but he caught himself, of course, hands either side of her face.

He looked down at her, still giggling uncontrollably, her face flushed, and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"You know you are _completely insane_, right darling?" he muttered huskily, somehow managing to lie down on his side next to her on the small sofa.

Eventually, she managed to control herself, and stopped laughing, turning to look at him. His eyebrows were raised disapprovingly, but his mouth was curved into an amused half-smile. If it was possible, Ariadne thought, he looked even more attractive than usual.

Suddenly though, his brow furrowed, and he reached down to lift up the wrist that was so recently in cast. He held it between their faces, staring pointedly at it, and then back at Ariadne.

"It doesn't hurt, I promise, I was really careful-"she started seriously, trying to ease his concern.

"Oh, yeah right," he scoffed, kissing her palm briefly, before lowering her hand again. "Please don't do that to me again."

She smiled at him, knowing she was already forgiven. "If you _insist_-"she drawled, rolling her eyes- but Eames stopped her talking by suddenly pressing his lips against hers.

It was a different kiss to the ones Eames usually gave her. Not chaste and teasing, but not full of passion and excitement either. It was gentle and sweet and _completely _made Ariadne loose her train of thought. His lips moved tenderly against hers; until he moved away to lightly kiss her cheek before pulling away.

"Yes, I do insist," he told her softly.


	5. Morning Showers

**(I'm afraid I must dedicate this to my completely awesomely-fantastic-pyschic best friend at this point, who provided the two brilliant prompts that inspired this paticular chapter, as well as also providing prompts for previous scenes. She is a genius- so I thought you should all know :)**

**Thank-you for all the lovely reviews so far too! They are really encouraging ^_^ And the number of people who have favourited this story is frankly amazing- i feel very loved :D Enjoy!**

Eames was _not_ a morning person. That much was clear, Ariadne had decided, as the weeks turned into months and Eames showed no sign of wanting to leave. Ariadne mostly got up on her own, and Eames would grumble and complain sleepily, reaching for her sleep softened frame with clumsily hands, his eyes still closed, intent on pulling her back onto the bed. Ariadne would laugh, and easily slip away from his grasp, reaching for her clothes, ready to start the day. Most days, when Ariadne had college, Eames would let her go, but at the weekends, and particularly on Sundays, he put up a bit more of a fight.

Ariadne glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 9:23am, Sunday 26th October. She tried to close her eyes, go back to the drifting nothings of sleep, but Ariadne was one of those people who, once awake, are physically unable to get back to sleep. As it was, she didn't _want_ to sleep anyway. A wonderful feeling of contentment curled in her stomach, the kind after a very satisfying and fulfilling night's sleep in a warm and comfortable bed. She was fully awake now, and beginning to become aware of her surroundings.

The room was filled with light. Whilst preoccupied with their... _activities_ the evening before, neither Ariadne or Eames had thought to close the curtains properly. As a result, a wide beam of morning sunlight spilled across the white bed sheets and onto the wall opposite. Ariadne shifted slightly, smiling when she realised _why_ she was so warm and comfortable; Eames was curled up along the length of her back, his head resting lightly against her shoulder, one heavy arm warm wrapped protectively around her waist.

She moved away from him, slipping out from under his arm, and turning over so she was face to face with him. He looked so _innocent, _his features relaxed and softened as he slept, holding no trace of his teasing humour. The thought made Ariadne smile because Eames was anything _but_ innocent, as she well knew. The light filtered through the thin curtains, giving his bare skin a warming glow, high-lighting his mussed up bed hair. Ariadne reached up and gently traced his jaw-line with her fingertips, following down his neck, onto the broad expanse of his shoulder, before reaching up to repeat the action, slowly ghosting his skin-

"You're staring," Eames muttered gruffly, eyes closed, taking Ariadne by surprise. She smiled at the use of her usual phrase.

"I am. I can't help it. Sorry if I woke you..." she murmured, withdrawing her hand. Even with his eyes closed, Eames managed to snatch up a hand to deftly catch her wrist.

"Did I say I wanted you to stop? You did wake me, but darling, if you were an alarm clock, they'd sell out in minutes," his eyes opened, and he gave her a small grin, that despite the number of times she'd seen it, _still_ made Ariadne's heart stutter.

He brought her hand back up to his face, gently kissing her fingers, before closing his hands around it, and letting his eyes fall shut again.

They stayed like that for a while, and Ariadne knew that if Eames had his way this was how they would spend most of the day. She watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, enjoying the warmth of his hands, until she began to register the nagging voice at the back of her mind. The one that tormented her blissful state of contentment by continually saying things like- 'Look how much time you've wasted today already! Get up- get on with all the hundreds of things you've got to do! Time is ticking! If you don't hand in that Russian inspired design on time they'll fail you!'

She sighed, and slowly pulled her hand away. Eames' brow furrowed, his eyes still closed.

"You better not be thinking of doing something as stupid as getting up Ari," he muttered.

"I'm sorry Eames, you _know_ I'd be happy to just stay with you in bed all day-"

"Then do," Eames butted in, opening his eyes again and practically glaring at her.

"It's just I have 3 projects in for tomorrow, and I need to sort out the bloody microwave and visit Jeanne and her new baby and we are _desperately_ in need of some more coffee, and-" Ariadne was getting more and more anxious as she realised the extent of her to-do list, and how stupid she was to have ignored it, when Eames reached up, and pulled her to him, catching her lips in a kiss.

As always, Ariadne forgot about everything for a few perfect seconds, because kissing Eames had that effect. She simply enjoyed the feel of his warm, gentle lips against hers. All too soon, however, her annoying conscience kicked in and she pulled away, breathing unsteadily.

"Stay with me. Just for today. Please," he said quietly, and he sounded so heart-breakingly sincere that Ariadne's resolve almost, _almost_ wavered. She gave him a sad smile.

"Another time," she promised, and Eames groaned dramatically, and childishly pulled the duvet over his head.

"Eames..." Ariadne pleaded, although she knew he was joking.

"Why, dare I ask, did you wake me up just to _leave_ me?" came Eames' muffled complaint from under the covers.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to wake you up in the first place, I don't _want_ to have to do all these things, but I _have_ to-"

"You don't _have _to do anything Ari- except maybe eat occasionally." Ariadne raised an eyebrow at the duvet sceptically. "Ah- I see it now," he continued bitterly, "you just want to get away from me,"

"What? Eames-"

"All I ask is that you stay at my side, or under me, or above- depending how energetic we're feeling," Ariadne fought back her laugh, "for the rest of this day, because your company is blissful darling, and you yourself are beautiful, and intelligent, and witty not to mention _mind -blowingly _sexy-"

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she told him firmly, biting back a smile.

Eames groaned in frustration, and shuffled under the covers so his back was to her.

"You hate me," he mumbled.

Ariadne gave an exasperated sigh. "Eames, you are being unusually ridiculous, even for you. I do _not_ hate you, in fact, my feelings are quite the reverse, the complete opposite actually, and if you would just-" she stopped abruptly, realising what she'd said, what she'd _admitted_. She bit her lip, and stared at the still form of Eames under the duvet.

There was a tense silence.

"Meaning?" came Eames' quiet inquiry. Ariadne fought for a few frantic seconds with indecision, and decided to change the subject.

"Look, it doesn't matter, I need a shower, then I'll go get croissants-"

"Ari," he interrupted softly, rolling back to face her and pulling the duvet back off his head. He eyed her seriously, and Ariadne tried to ignore the fact he looked even_ more_ sexy when he was being all sincere-

"It's not a big deal-" she started, making to turn away, but Eames caught her cheek with a large hand, gently bringing it back to face him.

"Well, it clearly is darling," he said solemnly, "I was just joking earlier. You can tell me. I know I'm scary but I won't bite your head off," a small smile played at the corner of his lips.

Ariadne stared at him momentarily, assessing how serious he was being, before suddenly leaning forward and burying her face in his shoulder, hiding her blush.

"You'll laugh at me," she mumbled against his skin. Eames' chest shook as he chuckled.

"Oh- I don't think this is a laughing matter love," and his arms wound around her back, pulling her closer.

Ariadne stayed quiet for a while, feeling the drum of his pulse beneath his warm skin.

"I'm worried I'll scare you off," she finally admitted into his shoulder. His grip tightened breifly around her, and he sighed into her hair.

"Ari- when will you realise that I'm not leaving you? I'm too bloody in love with you to suddenly pack up sticks and-"

"You love me?" she asked, astounded, pulling away to look up at him.

Eames laughed, a low amused rumble that made Ariadne smile. "You know- I thought you were smart, but if you couldn't even work _that_ out, then-"

Ariadne silenced him with a sudden, urgent kiss, because _Christ_ she was relieved that her feelings were mutual because she had been so _scared_.

Eames pulled away with a smile, "Did you _honestly_ think that-"

"Yes, I did, alright? I wasn't sure if you the type for long-term relationships, and I thought that me suddenly saying something like 'I love you' might make you feel the need to leave," she said in a rush, not meeting his gaze, feeling her cheeks steadily reddening.

"Darling, you have to be the most adorable person I have ever met," he told her sincerely, kissing her forehead fondly, and settling back down against the pillows. "Does this mean you'll reconsider getting up then?"

It was Ariadne's turn to laugh now, partly out of relief and partly because Eames _loved_ her for God's sake and everything just seemed a little bit brighter. "I'm afraid not, I really_ do_ need that shower, and by the time I get to see little baby Vivienne, she will no longer _be_ a baby," and she quickly slid off the bed before Eames could catch her again.

He sat up, the duvet pooling around his waist, frowning at her as she reached for her towel. "You really are very good at deterring my advances you know, I am _trying_ to seduce you here Ari, and you are making it unreasonably difficult," he grumbled, leaning back against the wall.

Ariadne tried to hide the suddn warmth that spread through at the fact he was _trying_ to sdeuce _her. _She turned at the door, smiling at his scowl. "Well then, Mr. Eames, you're just going to have to try a little harder then, aren't you?"

It gave her great satisfaction to see his eyes widen, as she turned with a laugh and headed for the bathroom.

* * *

><p>Ariadne felt much better after her shower. The pounding cold water on her head and shoulders always helped her sort out things in her mind. Ariadne had a thing for cold showers, something Eames thought was incredibly strange. She warpped her towel around her torso, and raked her fingers briefly through her tangled hair, before making her way back to the bedroom.<p>

It did not surprise her in the slightest to see Eames still in bed.

She raised a disapproving eyebrow at him as she made for her wardrobe, but he just grinned anabashebly.

"You really are going to need a shower too you know at some point," Ariadne told him firmly, as she pulled out her jeans.

Eames sighed melodramatically. "Jeez, I tell her I bloody love her, and get told I need a shower as a response? What else can I do to win your heart darling?"

"Shut-up, you know you already have it, and just because you've told me that does _not_ permit you to meet my friends looking like a mess. The world keeps on turning Eames, despite us." She smiled as she said it, and picked out a green t-shirt to wear.

"Why must you be so cruelly practical Ari?" Eames asked, "Sometimes I feel like I'm living with _Arthur_ for Chirst's sake..." Ariadne stopped at that, and turned to glare at him eyebrow raised.

"Okay, that was a bit of a low blow..." Ariadne continued to eye him, then shifted her gaze to the door pointedly and back. "Fine! Fine, I'll go have a bloody shower then..." and he shifted to the side of the bed.

Ariadne smiled in satisfaction, and dropped her towel to the floor, pulling on her underwear, and turning to reach for her bra-

"Eames? What are you still doing here?" she asked, exasperated. He was leant against the door-frame, clad only in a pair of boxers, apparently watching her get dress, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk.

"What- am I not allowed to enjoy the view in my home?" he asked shamelessly, his eyes sparkling.

Ariadne reached for the nearest object to hand, her hair-brush as it happened, and advanced on him, "For a start- no, you are not allowed, secondly, this is _not_ your house, it's officially mine, and finally, will you just _get in the bloody shower?"_ She hit him repeatedly on the shoulder, and he watched her with an amused smile.

"Alright, alright, just for you darling," and he brushed a kiss against her cheek, before _finally_ heading towards the bathroom.

Ariadne sighed, smiling at his retreating form, then went back to getting dressed.

A few seconds later, as she was pulling on her jeans, an extremely un-manly yell came from the bathroom, followed by angry cursing.

Ariadne froze for a second- he couldn't have possibly hurt himself that badly that quickly. "Eames?" she called out warily.

"WHY IS THE SHOWER SO FUCKING COLD?" came the shouted reply, and Ariadne covered her mouth to stop herself laughing.

"Sorry! You know I like it cold- you have to turn the heat up-"

"WELL I BLOODY KNOW THAT _NOW_, DON'T I? Jeez..."

Ariadne grinned.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later, Ariadne had just finished making two cups of tea, and was leant against the kitchen work-top, sipping from her mug. The bathroom door opened, and billows of steam poured into the hall as Eames emerged, a white towel round his middle. Instead of heading for the bedroom, he walked into the kitchen, and stood, water dripping, hands on hips, glaring daggers at Ariadne.<p>

"What is wrong with you?" he asked in bewilderment.

"You should know by now that I _like_ cold showers and that-" Ariadne started, trying not to smile.

"Are you trying to give me a heart-attack? Is this your way of killing me off? Death by Extreme-Fucking-Cold?"

Ariadne didn't say anything, afraid that if she opened her mouth she would laugh, so she simply held out his cup of tea in a gesture of good faith.

He took it angrily, frowning at the contents. "Should I be concerned that this is poisoned too?" he grumbled- and Ariadne couldn't help it any more.

She spat back her tea into her cup with a laugh, and set it down, unable to control the giggles.

"What?" questioned Eames annoyed, glaring at her over the top of his cup, which made Ariadne laugh even more.

"It's just... the towel...and you're angry... and the tea," she managed weakly around her giggles.

Eames frowned, "Well, I'm glad I'm such a source of amusement for you," he said sarcastically, but Ariadne didn't miss the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. She fought to control her laughing, and Eames just watched her, confused and faintly amused.

"Sorry, I just couldn't take you seriously, because you looked, quite frankly, hilarious," she said grinning.

"Hilarious isn't normally the look I go for. Unreasonably attractive is more my sort of thing..." he told her seriously, setting down his own cup and reaching out for her arm, pulling her to him.

"Well, there's obviously that as well, how can you expect to tell me off when you're all dripping wet and in just a towel? I was instantly distracted anyway, so don't worry about that," she said teasingly, patting his shoulder affectionately.

He leant in towards her, and Ariadne felt her pulse instantaneously speed-up. "Good, that sounds more like me," he murmured against her neck, before pressing a quick kiss to the underside of her jaw. She shuddered slightly.

"Ah- not so hilarious now, I am darling?" he whispered huskily into her ear, his warm breath raising goosebumps.

"Eames..." she warned reluctantly, not that she minded Eames actually _trying_ to get her to kiss him (as if he even needed to bother). She moved away slowly, kissing his frowning lips as she went.

"One of these days, _I'm_ going to decide what we do, alright? We'll call it 'Eames Day' and you'll have to do whatever I want to do," he grumbled, running his hand lightly up and down her bare arm.

"It's a deal," she told him, the anticipation of such a thing already building in the pit of her stomach, "I'll write it on the calendar."

Eames rolled his eyes at that, and muttered something under his breath about being 'too bloody organised' before yanking her back to him and kissing her hard.


	6. Arthur Needs Help

**Okay-dokey, so here is the next part :) I felt this wasn't really going anywhere- so I decided that some angst/plot was needed just to add a bit of varity-hope readers don't mind... ;) Oh- and feel free to leave prompts in reviews for any future situations- if I think I can, I'll incorporate them into this story :)**

**Thanks for all the reviews so far, they make my day- keep them coming! (Although- to be honest, I'm more than happy just looking at the 'Traffic Stats'- how can this story have got over 1,000 hits already- and from so many different countries? My mind is boggled) :D **

Ariadne was wonderfully comfortable and warm, nestled against Eames' hard chest, her face buried into the crook of his shoulder, breathing in his earthy (and decidedly manly) scent. Her thoughts were fogged with peaceful, sleepy matters of no importance- but at the back of her mind, she was vaguely aware that something was wrong.

For a start, why had she woken up?

And what was that incessant high-pitched ringing? She opened her eyes, blinking blearily in the blackness, and shifted away from Eames' comforting embrace. Her eyes adjusted to the dark gradually, and although nothing was out of place in their (she didn't feel like she could call it _hers_ anymore) small bedroom, the shrill ringing continued, reverberating around her head. Ariadne frowned. If this was a dream it was a bloody realistic one.

She prodded Eames on his bare shoulder. He was still sleeping soundly, and she wanted some evidence that she _wasn't _going insane. She poked him again when she get no response-

"Eames, can you hear that?" she muttered into the blackness. Eames groaned in protest, but she tugged anxiously on his arm. How could the ringing be getting louder?

"Eames, is it just me or can you hear that god awful noise?" she asked again impatiently. It was useless trying to wake Eames up in less than two minutes.

He turned over, gazing up at her sleepily; he tried, and failed, to suppress a yawn. He smiled at her sheepishly when she raised an eyebrow

"What noise?" he mumbled, making to turn back over to sleep.

He stopped mid-way however, his face smoothing out, and he offered her a dozy grin, closing his eyes. "Oh, _that_ noise, that's just my phone-" he broke off abruptly, eyes snapping open, his features momentarily freezing. Ariadne could almost hear the cogs whirring in his mind as Eames fought with his drowsiness to think properly.

"Eames- what's the ma-"

In a flurry of sudden, violent movement that made Ariadne jump, Eames had swung out of bed and dashed across the other side of the room. He flung open the wardrobe door (the ringing increased in volume again) and ducked his head in to get a better look at the shelves. After a few seconds of frantic fumbling, throwing random objects carelessly onto the floor and particularly colourful cursing about the dark, he stood back, grasping an ancient black Nokia. The horrible ringing, Ariadne realised, had most definitely been coming from it. Eames flipped the phone open, and pressed it to his ear.

"...Arthur?" he asked warily, and Ariadne felt her heart falter. Why the fuck was _Arthur_ calling Eames on a mysterious phone at, she glanced at the glowing green numbers on her bedside clock, _3:48 _in the bloody _morning?_ It could only mean one thing. Bad news. Ariadne swallowed. Even from the other side of the room, she could hear Arthur's murmurings down the line, low and rapid.

"Arthur, slow down, what happened? Where are you?" Eames' voice was flat and serious, holding no trace of the usual teasing lilt he reserved especially for the man who hated it the most. Wherever Arthur was, there was an unexpected loud crash from the background, making Eames flinch.

"What the fuck is going on back there?" Eames spat, the words coming out harshly. Ariadne tried to ignore the edge of panic to his voice.

"Are you armed?...I'll be there in a few hours," Ariadne felt a chill run down her spine, Eames rattled on, hastily trying to say everything he needed to, getting progressively more and more anxious, "I'll call Cobb on the way, get to the airport if you can, and Ar-." Eames was cut off. Arthur had hung up.

The dial tone droned ominously in the dark silence.

Eames stood there for a few seconds, unmoving. Ariadne could tell by the way his muscles were tensed, his shoulders slightly hunched, and how his grip on his pathetic excuse of a phone was so tight it looked like it would snap in two- that something was wrong. _Really _wrong.

"Eames, what's happened to Arthur?" she whispered cautiously, a rising sense of dread growing in the pit of her stomach, acutely aware of how loud she sounded in the still silence.

Her words seemed to break the spell. Eames jolted into action again, moving around the room unbelievably fast, pulling on clothes, yanking his suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe, grabbing more clothes and shoving them into it in an almost amusing frenzy, snatching up his gun from Ariadne's dressing table and shoving it into the waistband of his trousers-

Ariadne was almost surprised when she realised she was crying. "Eames..." she murmured weakly, but he ignored her, instead practically falling to his knees at his bedside table and emptying its contents into the suitcase without so much as a second thought-

"Eames!" she repeated, louder this time, her voice cracking in desperation. He stopped suddenly and looked up at her, still sitting on the bed, tears staining her cheeks, as though he'd forgotten she was there. "What's going o-on?" she choked.

Eames paused briefly, before moving silently onto the bed and pulling her into a wordless embrace. He hugged her fiercely, kissing the top of her head, breathing her in. Ariadne tried not to think how similar this was to a good-bye.

"Arthur's got himself in some really rather deep shit," he muttered gruffly, pulling gently away and wiping her tears with the pad of his thumb. "Cobol have caught up with him, and they want him dead. He needs my help Ari-"

"I'm coming with you," Ariadne said simply. Arthur was her friend as much as he was Eames'.

"Not a bloody chance. It's far too dangerous-" he replied instantly, but Ariadne cut in.

"Eames, I'm not exactly _new_ to danger, and he's just as much my friend as he is..."she tried to argue, but by the way Eames was frowning and shaking his head, she knew in her heart that she didn't have a hope in hell.

"No. Forgive me for saying so darling, but you _are_ new to this particular type of danger- a type I'd much prefer you _never_ knew. From the sounds of it, Arthur noticed their tail on him a few days ago, but had managed to steer clear of contact. He was getting worried though, so called me up... from that background noise," Eames frown deepened, "it seems like he was right to be suspicious. They may have him already captive Ari- I'm taking the next plane to Massachusetts, I may be some time, I don't know how long it'll take to find him- but I will, I _swear_ that I will," he spoke so fiercely that Ariadne wondered if he was promising more to himself than to her.

He broke off and they sat in silence for a few seconds, before Eames kissed her chastely on the forehead, and made to move off the bed.

"No!" Ariadne whimpered, reaching out and grabbing his upper arm tightly. "Please- don't go..." she closed her eyes, inwardly hating herself. She sounded so pathetic and selfish but she wasn't sure how she could _cope_ not knowing where he was. All those months alone after the Inception job...she couldn't _bear_ going back to that.

Urgh, she thought angrily- she was _meant_ to be a strong, independent and spirited woman, not some girl who couldn't deal with being on her own. Arthur might have been kidnapped, was maybe going to be _tortured_ (she shuddered at the thought), yet- here she was _begging_ for Eames to stay. Christ.

Eames somehow however, seemed to understand. He took her hands in his gently. "I'm sorry Ari- I know that you still fret about me leaving you and not coming back- not that I can really comprehend why seeing how utterly and entirely smitten I am," he lifted her chin with his finger, and she opened her eyes to see a ghost of a smile on his lips.

But then, the smile was gone, and he was gazing at her sadly.

"You've just got to understand that Arthur _needs_ me- and you know what a prick he is, it takes a bloody lot for him to actually _ask_ for help, and although I know it's hard to believe sometimes, we've got quite a history, and he is one of the few people on this godforsaken planet I actually consider a _friend_, and I _cannot_ just sit here and _not_ try to help-" his voice shook almost violently with some un-nameable emotion, and Ariadne felt more rotten than she had ever felt in her entire life for being so mindlessly self-centred and making Eames question his loyalties.

Of course he bloody cared about Arthur.

"I know, I know you have to help him. I'm sorry, you go- I'll be fine, just... ring me when you find him," she murmured quietly, pushing him away feebly on the shoulder. He ignored her efforts, and leaned in for one last, sweet, and painfully tender kiss. Ariadne tried desperately hard to not think that it might be her _last_ from him.

He pulled away slowly, "go over to Jeanne's," he told her softly, "don't stay on here on your own. I'll call this number when there's news," and he pressed the ancient Nokia into her hand.

Ariadne nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak. The bed shifted as Eames' weight left it, and she watched through the half-light as he made his way quickly, suitcase in hand, to the door.

"And Eames?" Ariadne suddenly called out, her voice rasping.

He paused at the door, turning back to look at her. "Yes?"

"Be careful," she tried tell him, but to her annoyance, it sounded more like a plea.

"Always am darling, always am," and the ghost of a smile returned briefly. With that, he turned and left the room.

A few seconds later, Ariadne heard the front door shut with a bang.

She stayed sat in the quiet darkness of their bedroom. Alone.


	7. You've Got a Friend in Me

**So...voila! MORE ANGST I'M AFRAID- but it will go back to fluff after this- promise ^_^**

** Eames has GONE, so in order that Ariadne dosen't end up talking to herself, I've had to include some OCs... sorry to those who don't like them- I don't normally either, but (if I say so myself) I am particularly fond of _these_ OCs... But maybe I'm just being biased ;)**

**Enjoy! And, as always, please tell me what you think!**

Jeanne-Marie Benoit lived in an elegant Parisian terraced house, down a relatively quiet side-street close to the city centre. Such a prime location would no doubt have boosted the price of the house up to some astronomical amount, but Ariadne knew that money wasn't an issue when it came to the Benoits. They were, to put it simply, loaded.

Ariadne hadn't slept a wink the night Eames left. She had fought with indecision, as to whether to throw his advice to the wind, follow him and get a plane over to Massachusetts, but eventually decided against it. Eames would only send her back, and he had enough on his mind. So, Ariadne could do nothing else other than wait the night out. It was a long night.

At about 6:30am the next day, she had decided she couldn't stand it any longer. She _had_ to get out.

She dragged herself into the shower, yanked her fingers unfeelingly through her tangled hair, packed a small bag of essentials, left her apartment and took the Metro to the 3rd arr. (a central district in Paris).

Ariadne got a few funny looks on her way across the City- she knew she looked a complete state. Several were concerned. Some faintly amused. Others were slightly scared.

Jeanne's was one of horror.

"Ari? What the fuck 'appened?" she demanded fiercely in her heavy Parisian accent. Jeanne was thin, dark and unmistakeably _French, _with a crop of short frizzy hair that she couldn't care less about. Her dark eyes glared down at her from the door-way. Ariadne sighed, shaking her head-

"It's nothing really... I just- I was just wondering if I could stay here for a few days?" she muttered, eyes fixed on her scuffed boots as she spoke.

Jeanne raised an eyebrow, and Ariadne blushed. This really was pathetic. She honestly should be able to cope for just a few _days_ on her own. She made to turn away, but a strong hand reached out and took hold of Ariadne's arm.

"Of course you can stay you imbecile..." said Jeanne quietly, her expression softening, before pulling Ariadne back up into the house.

Jeanne's house was a wonderful place. A complete mess of course, shoes littering the narrow hall, baby toys on each step of the stairs, Vivienne's rough crayon drawings blue tacked to the walls- Arthur would absolutely _hate_ it- Ariadne quickly stopped that thought in its tracks as her gut twisted painfully.

"_Mama!"_ came an indignant cry from the kitchen up ahead. Jeanne gave an exasperated sigh.

"Une **_seconde_** Vivienne!" Jeanne shouted back, before turning to Ariadne abruptly, almost making her fall over in the small hall-way.

Jeanne glared at Ariadne evenly, narrowing her eyes.

"Now, what is wrong? Is it work? You 'ave no money? Or is it Eames? He hurt you? I swear I will _murder _'im, I tell you _every_ time- stay _away_ from the Engleesh men-"

Ariadne suddenly registered what her friend was saying. "Wha-? **No!** No, Jeanne, he hasn't _hurt _me! He wouldn't do anything like that, you know he wouldn't... it's- it's something else entirely..." Ariadne tailed off, feeling useless.

She had never been able to tell Jeanne what she _really_ did for a job, and they'd fallen out over it. Once she'd officially 'got' with Eames though (_christDON'TthinkaboutHIM) _he'd encouraged her to try and win back her friends' trust.

Jeanne was the only one who'd been interested.

She had raised her eyebrows at the phrase 'not strictly legal' and frowned at 'dangerous', but once she'd quizzed Ariadne enough to know that she wasn't dealing with drugs, _was_ being looked after (_godbutnowhewasGONE) _and most definitely was happy, she'd given a Gaelic shrug and changed subject. Ariadne loved her for that.

Now however, as Ariadne struggled to find words, Jeanne harrumphed loudly and turned away, continuing on into the kitchen, assuming her friend wasn't planning on saying anymore than that.

Ariadne sighed. She felt awful for not being able to tell her best friend the truth, but it was too much of a risk- if anyone found out what Jeanne knew, they might use her as leverage, or try and extract information. Ariadne shuddered at the very idea. Although, she thought with a wry smile, if anyone kidnapped Jeanne, she should be more worried about _them_ than her friend- she'd certainly put up a fight.

She pulled herself together, and began to pick her way over a push-along walker and into the kitchen.

The kitchen was spacious and light, and yet still seemed to be in complete disarray. A small dark haired toddler sat in a high-chair, and gave Jeanne such a disdainful look as she approached her with breakfast that Ariadne almost smiled. A little under two years old and already just like her mother.

Suddenly though, the girl noticed Ariadne's presence. She beamed, and waved her chubby fists in the air-

"_Aireee!" _she squealed, and Ariadne couldn't help but not smile now.

"Bonjour Vivienne, ça va?" Vivienne nodded enthusiastically in reply, before pushing away the spoon of breakfast her mother was offering her in disgust.

Ariadne caught the exasperated look on Jeanne's face, as she put the bowl down on the counter with a sigh.

"Sorry, this is a bad time isn't it? I shouldn't be intruding, I'll find somewhere else-"

"Ari- arrête! Look, something is not good, right? You stay with us for as long as you are needing to," she rolled her eyes at Ariadne's incompetence, and suddenly took a step forward to pull her friend into a tight hug.

"You tell me when you ready, non? So, it's all fine," and she offered Ariadne a rare sincere smile. Jeanne was all teasing and sarcasm, so a show of sentimentality was a surprise. Ariadne felt a pang of affection for her friend, but also one of guilt. She wouldn't be able to tell Jeanne properly, and the over-whelming fact that _Eames_ was the _only_ one she could really talk to anymore flooded her thoughts. That horribly familiar cold sense of loneliness twisted her stomach.

Jeanne, however, oblivious to Ariadne's inner turmoil, gave her a sudden, wicked grin. "But- Ari, if you are going to distract mon petite monstre- _you_ can 'ave the pleasure of feeding her..." and she handed her Vivenne's bowl and spoon. Ariadne gave a weak smile.

* * *

><p>It turned out Jeanne's was the perfect place to be distracted. The rest of the day passed in a whirl-wind of cooking, shopping, chatting, and 5 tantrums from 'le petit monstre' as Jeanne so affectionately called her only daughter. Ariadne was infinitely grateful, and although she kept trying to offer her thanks to her friend, Jeanne would shake her head and wave her away impatiently.<p>

Ariadne was mostly designated the job of baby-sitting, one which she didn't mind in the slightest as Vivienne was a very energetic and entertaining child, and needed constant attention. The distraction stopped Ariadne's mind from frequently drifting to where Eames or Arthur might be, or how bad the situation was. The ancient Nokia was securely buttoned in her jeans pocket, and twice she had leapt up, thinking it was vibrating, before remembering it _couldn't _vibrate, and that she would just have to wait for the shrill ringing that had woken her up in the dead of night seemingly _years_ ago.

"Où Emmy?" Vivienne suddenly demanded half-way through a game of playing Lego with Ariadne. Her little face was scrunched up in a frown, and her fistful of red Lego bricks paused in mid-air.

Ariadne froze, her heart faltering. Christ. What was she meant to say to that?

Vivienne was old enough to remember the times Ariadne had come before, and the fact she'd always been accompanied by a tall broad English-man who swept her up of the floor, and spun her round, much to Vivienne's delight. Vivienne had affectionately decided on calling him 'Emmy', as Eames was too tricky to pronounce. Ariadne remembered fleetingly how he had let the toddler climb into his lap, play with his fingers, and poke his nose. Jeanne had frowned, and warned Vivienne to be polite, but Eames had just laughed, and insisted that it was fine. Tears burned hotly in Ariadne's eyes. He was always so kind and gentle with the little girl, bending down to talk to her at her level, showing a side of his personality that Ariadne hadn't even known existed, and she'd wondered about the future, about what a wonderful father he'd be-

_Christ! Pull yourself together Ariadne! He's not fucking __**dead!**_ She told herself angrily, furiously wiping the tears away. She fought to ignore the small voice in the back of her head that said '_But how can you __**know**__ that for sure anymore?'_

"Emmy est malade, Vivi, dit-il désolé," Ariadne lied shakily to the inquiring toddler. For a brief second Vivienne looked deeply unimpressed, (_little kids aren't __**meant **__to know when you're lying! _Ariadne thought desperately), but was instantly distracted by the slamming of the front door.

"_Papa!" _she shrieked in delight, and set off stumbling down hallway.

Ariadne got up wearily, trying to pull herself back together, and made her way in the direction of the kitchen.

"Ariadne! Great to see you!" came a friendly voice from the front-door, making her stop. The English accent made her falter for just a second, before she was back in control. She looked up and gave a small smile.

"William- nice to see you too,"

Despite Jeanne's prejudices against anything or anyone English, something that Eames never failed to find amusing (_fucknotAGAIN), _she had in fact, gone and married an Englishman. William was tall, handsome, and perhaps one of the kindest and gentlest people Ariadne had ever met (_exceptoneyouidiotNO). _At first, of course, Jeanne had deeply disliked him, and firmly argued to marry him only on the condition that they did NOT live in England. He had merrily agreed, and now worked as an Art Historian in the Louvre.

William grinned at Ariadne, and lifted Vivienne up onto his shoulders. He carefully made his way down the hall, and gestured for her to go into the kitchen first, still smiling. It made Ariadne feel slightly sick.

They ate at the large worn, wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. Ariadne avoided William's well-mannered inquiring questions as politely as she could. When he asked jovially where Eames was- they both got on very well- Ariadne winced and said nothing.

He stopped asking when Jeanne gave him a well-aimed kick under the table.

William sensed the uncomfortable situation he was unaware of, and instead filled the silence by talking happily about his day. When Vivienne's head started to droop, he excused himself from the table, gently folded his daughter in his arms, and took her upstairs to bed.

Ariadne and Jeanne sat in uneasy silence. Ariadne could feel her friend's gaze on her, so stared resolutely at the table, following the grain of wood with her finger.

"Vivienne's really getting to grips with her words fast..." Ariadne murmured, searching desperately for a conversation topic that did _not_ involve her.

Jeanne snorted incredulously, and Ariadne looked up in surprise. "She would be _much_ better if William did not _insist_ in speaking to 'er in Engleesh as well- I don't know 'ow she understands _anything!" _

Ariadne smiled, "being bilingual is very useful in modern society you know- she'll do very well if she's fluent in both-" she stopped, as a similar conversation she's had with Eames a few weeks ago came flooding back. "We can't all be bloody bilingual', he'd muttered, when Ariadne had told him he really _must_ try and learn some French. Her throat constricted.

Jeanne put a warm hand over Ariadne's.

"Tell me," she demanded softly, and, as she felt fresh tears building up, Ariadne knew she'd have to.

"He-he left..." she managed, and at once Jeanne's hand tightened, her mouth forming a hard line, "**No**-not like that, to help a friend of ours...who's in trouble, a _lot_ of trouble," and the thought of Arthur being hurt brought more tears to her eyes.

"He's gone to f-find him, but, oh God Jeanne, I _know_ it's dangerous, and I'm just so _worried_ about him, because I don't know what I'll _do _if-" and Ariadne dissolved into racking sobs.

Jeanne pulled her chair up next to Ariadne's, and wrapped her arms around her friend. She said nothing, but stayed there, holding her, until Ariadne couldn't cry anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>(Just in case you can't be bothered to visit Google translate- don't worry, I know the feeling ;)<strong>

**'Ou Emmy?'- Where Emmy?**

**'Emmy est malade, Vivi, dit-il desole'- Emmy is ill, Vivi, he says sorry**


	8. Phone Calls

**Reviews= :D Thank-you ever so much, and for all the story favourites/alerts :) I feel very loved.**

**Anyway- a little more angst I think... ;) (sorry for any typos etc. I wrote this at a rather unreasonable hour)**

**Enjoy! x**

The next few days were awful, and Ariadne had had _more_ than her fair share of pretty bad days.

She felt almost physically sick most of the time, she was so worried. There was a constant stream of horrific, graphic and painful possible scenarios that fought their way to the forefront of her mind, and no amount of understanding Jeanne, kindly William and adorable Vivienne could help that.

By day 6, Ariadne had stopped trying to make it through each day. She was struggling to make it through each _hour_ _._

Christ she missed him.

Christ she _bloody loved_ him.

And why the fuck hadn't she told him that before he had left? '_Be Careful'_- what a load of crap.

She kept the phone on her at all times. Occasionally she got it out and just held it- willing it to ring. One night, she had glanced through the phone's files, not that there was anything much on there, and opened the contact list. There was one number, saved under the name 'A'.

It had to be Arthur.

Ariadne had suddenly put the phone on the bedside table, feeling strangely as though she was intruding. Of course she had known Eames cared about Arthur, but she had yet again under-estimated him. Eames had told her Arthur was one of his few real friends- and he hadn't been lying. She curled up under the blanket, and wished more than ever that Arthur would be alright. Because she wasn't sure how Eames would cope if he was dead.

It was ever so slightly pathetic how much of a wreck she was without Eames, and she knew that, so she tried her best to keep up a relaxed attitude in front of her hosts. It was only getting more and more difficult though, as time went on, and there was _still_ no news. No news did _not_ mean good news in this case. Ariadne had told herself that too many times in the space of 6 days.

With all that agonising and pent-up maddening concern, Ariadne also told herself that she could _not_ be blamed for literally giving a small scream and jumping practically out of her skin when the ancient Nokia on her bedside table rang suddenly at 3:30am on the morning of the 7th day at Jeanne's.

She hadn't been asleep of course, but the shrill familiar ring was so _loud_ in the heavy, suffocating darkness, that it was as though someone had fired a gun next to her ear.

It took a long second to process what the ringing meant, before Ariadne flung herself across the bed, scrabbling desperately at the phone, knocking over the bedside lamp, and swearing furiously when the phone slipped to the floor.

"_No fucking __**way**__ am I going to miss this call after all this__** fucking**__ time-" _she told herself fiercely, as she groped in the blackness. Her fingers closed around the source of the penetrating noise that had no doubt woken the whole house up by now, and she jabbed the accept button with fumbling fingers, hitting her ear as she yanked it up-

"Ariadne?"

Shit. His voice. Rough, low, demanding, unmistakeably British and _his._ Ariadne brought a shaking hand up to cover her mouth to stop the sudden and unexpected sob she felt rising in her throat. He was there, breathing, talking and definitely _alive._ The relief was so intense it was almost painful.

"Eames?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"The one and only darling," he said quietly, and Ariadne could just _hear_ the half-smile behind his words. She fought the hysterical laugh that threatened to escape her, and focused on keeping him talking.

"Are you alright? Did you get Arthur? Is he okay?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine- a few cuts and bruises, nothing too serious," he said dismissively, "as for Arthur-" he broke off suddenly, seeming to struggle to find the right words.

'_Please, __**please**__ let Arthur be okay' _Ariadne prayed silently, willing Eames to answer with a jovial 'he's fine'.

"Arthur... Arthur's alive," he murmured finally, his horse voice cracking.

"Oh Eames..." Ariadne started, but couldn't think of anything comforting to say. The pain in Eames' voice was evident, and it caused _Ariadne_ pain just to listen to it. She so desperately wished that she could reach out right now and pull him into a tight hug. In situations like these, actions spoke louder than words.

"He's in surgery now... should know more when he gets out. Just wanted to let you know," and he was speaking so quietly now Ariadne could barely hear him. Unstoppable panic rose within her, because he was just _couldn't_ leave her _again. _

"Eames- wait! What _happened? _What's wrong with him?" she blurted out frantically- he couldn't hang up on her- he just _couldn't_-

"He was kidnapped," Eames said shortly, "But I don't want to say anymore here, I'll call you when we're coming back- alright?" he sounded distracted, anxious, but Ariadne was closing her eyes against the tears that had started. He _was_ leaving, he _was_ hanging up on her.

"Okay," she choked, hoping the static that had become progressively louder in the last few seconds would cover for her.

"I'll be in touch darling, keep the phone on you." And he was going, and going, and he really was about to hang up-

"I love you," she whispered, so quietly she doubted he would hear her anyway, but because she _had_ to say it.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. The static crackled.

"Love you too Ari," he said gruffly, and then the line went dead.

* * *

><p>Ariadne awoke the next day with the phone on the pillow next to her. She had slept with it in her hand most of the night. Still. At least she had actually <em>gotten<em> some sleep at last.

It was only a matter of time, she told herself as she pulled her jumper over her head, before Eames rang again. Rang to say he was coming back.

Arthur was alive, and Eames was well enough to be calling her on a mobile of his own accord, and they weren't going to be either of them leaving the hospital anytime soon- so surely they were out of danger now? Ariadne hoped so.

Despite that slight shadow of anxiety that still flitted across her mind at random moments, Ariadne felt as though she could breathe again. It was as though someone had lifted a horrible, suffocating, foul-smelling gag from her mouth, and now each breath was fresh and sweet and clear. She even smiled, knowing the phone was securely in her jeans pocket.

Jeanne cornered her after breakfast. She came across to the sink where Ariadne was washing some dishes, eyes narrowed.

"Something has 'appened, non? He contact you?" she asked under her breath, because William was on the other side of the room, trying to stop Vivienne crayoning the walls purple.

Ariadne bit her lip against her smile, and nodded.

Jeanne grinned, and flung her arms around her friend, whispering with some sort of furious joy-"I _knew_ that he was alright! _Did_ I not _tell_ you? And, did you believe me? No- you complete _imbecile!"_

And tears were burning Ariadne's eyes as she squeezed Jeanne tightly, but they were tears of fucking _happiness_ because maybe- just maybe, things were going to turn out alright for once.

"He's going to call me when he's coming back- our friend can't travel at the moment, but he _is_ coming back," Ariadne mumbled into Jeanne's shoulder- and saying it aloud made it seem even more real.

When she finally pulled back, Jeanne's eyes shone fiercely, and Ariadne didn't just smile. She positively beamed.

It was half-way through lunch 4 days later that the phone finally rang- piercing the peaceful atmosphere. Ariadne leapt up as though she had been given an electric shock, startling William and Jeanne. She had moved so violently to her feet that she had knocked her wine-glass off the table, and smacked her knee into the table-leg. She shot Jeanne a fleeting apologetic look, who just waved at her angrily, "Answer it Ari!" she hissed, and Ariadne didn't need telling twice. She spun into the hall, fumbling for the phone in her pocket.

"Eames?" she demanded, breathing heavily from the sudden exertion out in the shady hallway.

"Hello darling- we're coming home," he said simply, and again she could just _hear_ his smile.

She took a deep shaky breath; the stupid happy tears were welling up again. Jeez- she really did need to get a grip.

"And Arthur?"

"He's alright. We had to wait until he was stable enough to move, but he's awake now- has spent most of the morning lecturing me on how I shouldn't have left you to come and save him... ungrateful arse," Eames grumbled darkly, and Ariadne laughed. It felt strange, and she realised just how _long_ it had been since she had properly laughed.

"When should you be back? Which hospital are you going to?" Ariadne asked, suddenly urgent as the static grew louder- she was going to buy Eames a new phone after all this.

"Oh Christ Ari, don't ask me to pronounce it- it's the main hospital in Paris... " he said wearily, and Ariadne raised an eyebrow, before she remembered he couldn't see her.

"I'm going to need a little more than _that_ Eames," she replied, smiling.

"Bloody hell...it's the Pit- the Pitee Sallpetrer or something like that- it's got a load of random accents, and please don't ask me to embarrass myself further by repeating it," he pleaded, but Ariadne knew he was teasing her, and she laughed again.

"Le Pitié-Salpêtrière- I know it, it's not far from here. What time?" she pressed, because no _way_ was she going to miss one second more than necessary of Eames' company.

"Er- give me a second..." and there was a scuffle as Eames turned away from the phone. She heard him distantly ask someone "How long is the flight?"

"Around 6 hours, sir," came the far off American reply, and Ariadne's stomach clenched. 6 hours? She really had to wait another 6 whole hours?

"Did you hear that?" Eames asked, back on the phone, his voice pushing around the static, crackling slightly. "So we should be there around, oh, 8 o'clock this evening, I'd guess?"

"Right- I'll be there, with grapes and flowers and a 'Get Well Soon' balloon," grinned Ariadne.

Eames chuckled, and the sound was wonderful. "Ah- he may not be able to walk, but rest assured Ari, Arthur _would_ kill you," he told her lightly. "Uh-oh- he's glaring at me now, wants to know what you said- sorry Arthur, you'll just have to wait and see," he chided Arthur in the background, and Ariadne giggled.

"Give him a hug from me," she told him teasingly.

"Oh-ho- I'm sure that will go down _very_ well," muttered Eames sarcastically, but Ariadne was struggling to hear him- the static was growing louder, and his voice was sounding more and more distant.

"Eames?" she called down the phone.

"...fucking crap reception...I've got to g-...Ariad-" and the line went dead. Ariadne listened to the dial tone for a few brief seconds. The abrupt ending to the phone call unsettled her slightly- but she knew they were fine.

They were coming _back_.


	9. Tout est Bien qui finit Bien

**I'm afraid this is the last part for at least a while now... I have stupid exams coming up- and as much as I love writing for you guys and staring at the Hit Count, I am painfully aware that if I ever want to _go_ anywhere with my writing- passing GCSE English would be a good start ;)**

**I hope whoever is reading this had enjoyed it- please let me know what you think of it as a whole :) **

**(oh, and a slightly random last request- if you leave a review, could you let me know where you're from? e.g. I'm from England...if you hadn't worked that out... ;D Not that I want to know in a I-want-to-stalk-you/hunt-you-down kind of way, because I really don't have the time, money or energy ;) But I'm just interested in _who_ is actually reading this. I mean, the Traffic Stats said 4 people from Israel had visited this story? That boggled my mind slightly... :)**

**Anyway- I'll shut up now and let you get on- this part is extra long seeing as it's the last :)**

* * *

><p>30 minutes later, Ariadne was packed and ready to leave.<p>

She had 5 and a half hours until Eames and Arthur should be arriving at the hospital, and already she was anxious to get there. Jeanne for once didn't tell her she was being ridiculous, but gave her a kiss on both cheeks and told her that Vivienne would throw a fit when she woke up to find her playmate gone- and that Ariadne better come round more often. Ariadne smiled, and hugged her friend tightly.

"Thank-you so much Jeanne, for understanding," she said sincerely.

"Urgh- enough with all this soppiness and affection Ari! I cannot take it!" Jeanne rolled her eyes dramatically, and practically pushed Ariadne out of the door.

Ariadne didn't go to the hospital straight away. She was _desperate_ to see Eames and Arthur, but she wasn't _so_ insane as to sit in a hospital waiting room for hours at a time.

She went back to her flat to drop off her stuff, and stopped to buy groceries on the way, remembering how the fridge would contain only the food she had left in it- no doubt past their sell-by-dates by now. Feeling the need to force herself to do something useful, she actually_ tidied_ the apartment, seeing as it was in a mess, and was content to look up from scrubbing the sink a while later to see that a whole hour had passed.

After that was done however, she found it harder and harder to find things to do. In order to stop her looking at the clock every 5 seconds, she decided to go into the city centre.

Paris was buzzing in the early evening light. The streets were full of people and it dawned on Ariadne that it was Friday night. Restaurants had put out extra tables on the pavements, musicians were playing on street corners, and the smell of delicious food made her stomach ache slightly. However, the sight of the numerous loved-up couples quickly put her off her hunger- the holding hands and tender expressions made her feel almost sick.

'3 hours to go Ariadne, you can hold out for 3 hours' she told herself fiercely.

She lasted another 8 minutes before catching the Metro to the Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital.

The waiting room was well-equipped with coffee machines, magazines and comfortable chairs. She told the receptionist that she waiting for an Emergency Case from Boston, and the receptionist nodded politely in acknowledgment.

Then, Ariadne couldn't do much more than wait.

Time passed immeasurably slowly, _painfully_ slowly, and she lost count of the number of coffees she drank. The minute hand inched round the clock, and Ariadne became so lost in how bloody _bored_ she was, she realised with a sudden jolt that it was 8:15pm.

They were 15 minutes late.

Ariadne tried not to let this affect her. Planes were notoriously late, and there were any number of perfectly valid and reasonable explanations as to why they wouldn't be here exactly on time. 15 minutes probably wasn't even _classified_ as late when it came to flying anyway, she told herself.

But an hour and a half definitely was.

She politely asked the receptionist, but the shifts had changed over, and this one seemed young, new and nervous, and couldn't help. When Ariadne asked a passing nurse if there was someone informed she could ask, she was told rather haughtily that this was a _hospital_ and the people in charge were rather too busy saving _lives_, thank-you very much.

Ariadne's admiration of French Nurses, and in fact Nurses in general was considerably lowered for a while after that.

The clock ticked solemnly onwards to 10 o'clock. And now Ariadne was _really_ worried but Friday night in Central Paris seemed to be the worst time to ask for anything- the place was frantic.

There was a television in the waiting-room that the nervous receptionist offered to turn on for her, but Ariadne politely refused. Partly because she couldn't stand late night TV and partly because she didn't want to have to watch the news and hear that some plane had crashed into the Atlantic Ocean on its way from America-

'_NO Ariadne- stop being stupid'_ she told herself furiously. This wasn't going to help.

By midnight Ariadne was in tears. She tried not to show it, but the anxiety, frustration and tiredness was getting to her. She grabbed a doctor's arm desperately as he strode past, _pleading_ for some information on the patient from Boston, but the doctor told her knew nothing about it, and if she didn't calm down he would have security remove her. She shut up after that.

00:30am.

1:27am.

1:58am.

2:24am

Ariadne looked up blearily at the clock. The reception room was quiet now. Less and less people passed through with each hour, and no-on stopped to ask why she was curled up across 3 armchairs. Such behaviour wasn't that uncommon she assumed. She was fighting with her heavy eye-lids to stay awake, and was managing- thanks mainly to the fear. The fear that they weren't coming. She was never going to see them again. Him again.

Fresh tears started up, and she wiped them away weakly. For _fuck's sake!_ What had happened? Why were they_ 6 bloody hours late?_

Suddenly, a door directly opposite her opened, making her start. She looked up and froze-

Eames was standing in the doorway, scruffy and tired and jetlagged but _there_. Stubble had grown across his jaw, his simple suit jacket was crumpled and creased, and the hand that ran wearily through his mussed hair shook slightly, but he was standing and alive and Ariadne was suddenly, painfully reminded of the moment she had opened her apartment door to see him on the doorstep, and the _feelings_ that had coursed through her.

His eyes scanned the room briefly before resting on her. A small look of shock flitted across his features, before a lazy grin curved his lips.

Ariadne struggled to her feet, and ran over to him, forgetting her tiredness and worry. She stumbled as she reached him, and fell into him. He caught her, of course, strong, warm arms wrapping around her gently, and then tightening as he hugged her. Ariadne couldn't help it, she sobbed weakly into his chest, and Eames kissed the top of her head softly, stroking her back.

"Shush- s'alright pet," he muttered huskily, and his _voice,_ God- how could she have forgotten? The phone calls didn't do it justice in the slightest.

Gradually however, it slowly dawned on Ariadne that she wasn't so content as she'd like, wrapped in Eames' arms. In fact, she was livid.

She pulled out of his grasp abruptly and took a step back, and the look of confusion and slight rejection on Eames' face remained there only for the brief second it took Ariadne to bring her hand to up to the side of his face in a sharp smack.

To his credit, Eames only flinched. He brought a hand to his stinging cheek and frowned angrily, "What the fuck was _that_ for?" he demanded.

"_6 hours Eames!_ I waited for _6 hours_! I mean- it's been fucking hard enough not knowing where you are or what you're doing, but making me wait an extra _6 bloody hours?" _her voice had risen almost to a shriek, and the receptionist glanced their way, looking even more nervous.

A look of comprehension ghosted Eames' expression, before hardening, "Well it's not _my_ fault, _I _didn't invent bloody complicated time zones! How was I supposed to know?"

"You could have just _asked_ someone seeing as you are so clearly incapable of working _that_ one out yourself-" she hissed.

"You _know_ I'm crap at Maths!" Eames said defensively, "And actually Ariadne, I've had slightly more pressing matters on my mind recently- like trying not to get fucking _killed _for a start." He breathed heavily, brow furrowed. "Anyway, you had a whole 6 hours to work it out - what did you _think_ had happened for fuck's sake?"

"I- I..." Ariadne trailed off, because already the anger was dying within her, and she couldn't take her eyes off the angry red mark on Eames' cheek and now that she looked- his face was not in as good condition as she remembered anyway. A large gash was just healing across his forehead, his lip was bleeding, and there was purple swelling at his temple, not to mention numerous other cuts and nicks. He glared at her, his blue eyes narrowed, and she felt, all in an instant, utterly _awful_.

"Oh crap- Eames I'm sorry, that was horrid of me," she mumbled, and lowered her head, closing her eyes against the tears (how many times could she cry in one day?)

There was a brief pause, before a large hand was cradling the side of her face. She leaned into his touch without hesitation. "Well, I think the slap was a little uncalled for, but I'm glad to know that you can look after yourself Ari," he murmured teasingly, and she looked up at the half-smile playing on his lips.

"I've missed you like hell," she told him quietly, watching his expression soften. He pulled her back against his broad chest. She could feel the steady heartbeat through his shirt.

"Glad to know the feeling's mutual darling," he muttered roughly next to her ear, his breath warm on her cheek, and Ariadne lifted her head so she could kiss him hard on those beautiful lips.

She immediately regretted it when Eames winced in pain. In her brief moment of uncontrollable desire, she had forgotten about the cut. She could taste the blood on her tongue.

"Sorry," she breathed, pulling back, trying to control the frantic rate at which her heart had deemed necessary to beat at as a reaction to a second-long kiss with Eames.

"Don't worry about it," he told her firmly, leaning down to capture her lips again- but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Eames- has someone looked at these injuries?" she enquired, and Eames gave a sigh in frustration.

"It's nothing serious," he insisted, and leant in again, grazing his teeth along her bottom lip. Ariadne shuddered briefly, before regaining control and pushing back against him more forcefully. Eames could have easily ignored that gesture, but he moved back with a resigned expression.

"Why am I not allowed to kiss you anymore?" he said roughly, pouting slightly. Ariadne ignored the fluttering in her chest at his words.

"Because- you are injured, and there is no point doing something if you aren't well enough to do it properly."

Eames raised a single eyebrow at her poor reasoning, smiling slightly.

"Anyway- I want to see Arthur." Eames' expression changed in an instant, suddenly serious and understanding.

"Of course," he said simply, and wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her out of the reception.

* * *

><p>Eames led Ariadne down the white-washed corridors through large swing-doors, past various night-shift doctors and nurses. He seemed to know where he was going however, through the maze of identical passages, and soon enough, he steered her into an area of the hospital which Ariadne translated was designated for 'Long-term Residents'. Finally, Eames came to a halt outside a door labelled with 'Monsieur. Grahams'.<p>

Ariadne turned to look up at Eames, a question forming on her lips, but Eames guessed before she had time to speak- "_not_ his real name of course". Ariadne suddenly felt nervous, standing in front of the door. Arthur was badly injured, so badly that at one point, Eames had been grateful for the mere fact he was _alive._

Eames sensed her hesitation, and gently reached around to push open the door.

The room was quite dark, aside a small lamp on the bed-side table. A nurse was standing by Arthur's side, taking notes of the machine readings surrounding him. She looked up on their entering and smiled.

"Are you going to stay with him?" she asked quietly, and in perfect English.

"Yes, if that's alright," Eames replied softly, and the nurse nodded, before leaving the room briskly.

Ariadne approached the bed, her breath hitching in her throat. Arthur was so _pale_. He was practically as white as the sheets, his dark hair hanging loose around his face, eyes closed peacefully. There was a large dressing on the side of his head, and angry bruises spread across the left side of his face. His left arm was in cast up to the shoulder, and various wires and drips were attached to his right wrist. His cheeks were hollowed, his features a little too sharp, and Ariadne was grateful that the blanket covered the rest of him, because she knew it would be just as bad everywhere else. Still, the steady bleep of his heart monitor told her that at least was alive.

Eames' hand tightening around her waist slightly and she looked up at him. His eyes were locked on Arthur's face, and his expression could only be described as... fiercely protective. Her chest tightened with emotion, and she gave his hand a comforting squeeze. She wanted to know what had happened exactly, but she knew that that topic might be a little too painful for Eames to talk about so soon.

"There's only one bed," she whispered, and Eames looked away suddenly, turning to see where Ariadne was pointing. There was only one single over-night visitor bed, and it was a slim bed at that.

"Ah- well, I'm sure we'll manage darling," he breathed jovially into her ear, gently kissing her temple.

It certainly was a tight fit. Even with Eames' back pressed against the wall lying on his side; Ariadne was still practically falling off onto the floor. Eames flung the duvet over the both of them, and then wrapped his arm around her middle beneath it, securing her to him. She relished the warmth and contact, realising just how much she'd missed it while he'd been gone. She snuggled backwards against him, and turned her head so she could just make out his profile in the dim light.

"Eames?" she murmured.

"Hmm?" he replied sleepily.

"Next time, I'm coming with you. I won't let you go without me again."

She felt his chest shake as he laughed softly.

"I don't doubt that Ari, I really don't doubt that in the slightest," he muttered huskily, and kissed her chastely on the cheek.

* * *

><p>When Ariadne woke, light was streaming into the small room, and she was <em>very<em> warm. Too warm for comfort. She shifted Eames' heavy arm, and slowly manoeuvred out of his hold. He grumbled feebly, and Ariadne just smiled. She eyed a mirror on the other side of the room, and, seeing her reflection, rushed over to try and sort out her hair.

She groaned quietly at her reflection- she was a complete mess. She began raking her fingers through the mad tangle on her head, when she heard a dry, quiet chuckle behind her. Arthur was smiling at her, his tired injured face, creasing the way she remembered it always had.

"Arthur!" she almost squealed, and fell quickly into the chair by his side, scanning his face desperately. "How are you feeling?"

His smile got broader, and although there was pain in his eyes, he wasn't ever going to admit to it.

"Well, I've been better," he admitted softly, his voice rough, and he shifted slightly, wincing.

Ariadne scanned the bedside table and the room- surely the kept some form of medication around? Her eyes fell back on Arthur, and she briefly caught sight of his leg where the duvet had slipped back. She breathed in sharply. It was in cast too. From the ankle up to the knee. Christ- just how badly injured was he?

Arthur was frowning at her, and Ariadne knew he didn't want her to be worried.

"It could have been a lot worse you know," he told her, his voice barely above a whisper. "I honestly don't think I'd be here if Eames hadn't got to me when he did..." Ariadne's gaze flickered to Eames' sleeping form on the bed, his relaxed features and the steady, constant rise and fall of his chest. Her heart swelled.

"But don't tell him I said that," Arthur muttered darkly, "he'll never let me forget it."

Ariadne smiled down at him. Were all men so bloody ashamed of their feelings? Or was it just these two? She decided that it was probably just Arthur and Eames.

She took Arthur's pale good hand in hers', and squeezed gently. He looked up in surprise, before giving that heart-breaking smile again, and holding her hand a little tighter.

"What happened Arthur?" she asked quietly, and immediately regretted it as a flash of pain flitted across his features.

"You don't have to tell me, I underst-" she rushed apologetically, feeling foolish for even _considering _asking him such a question in his condition-

"No, no, it's alright," he told her, letting go of her hand so he could wave it feebly in what Ariadne assumed was meant to be a dismissive manner. He glared at his right hand for a second, as though annoyed it wouldn't co-operate properly, then let it fall back onto the bed.

"I don't think he would be happy about telling you anyway," he said quietly, eyes drifting to Eames on the bed and back again. He took a deep, slightly shaky breath and began-

"I went to New York after the Fischer job, I have an apartment there," this made Ariadne smile because it was so _Arthur_ it was unreal- "and thought I'd lie low for a while there. I had no _idea_ of how much of a struggle it was for you to get back to normal. Still, I tried to convince Eames that the best way of helping you was to let yourself find your own way. I was wrong, and I deeply regret not calling you," his voice was twisted with remorse and self-hatred, and his gaze was so sincere and honest that Ariadne forgave him on the spot. She nodded weakly as though she understood, and Arthur continued.

"Well, it was fine for a while- I even managed to do a couple of jobs while in New York. Eames called every now and then-"

"Wait- Eames called you regularly?" Ariadne interrupted, eyebrow raised. As far as she knew, Eames had spoken to Arthur only once since the job, when he'd picked up the phone in her apartment. "He never told me that."

"We decided it would be best for you to try and get back to normal. Eames was helping you do that, and I would just remind you too much of what had happened," he told her, "He rang about once a week."

Ariadne frowned across at Eames' slumbering form. They were going to have words when he woke up.

"Anyway, I was contacted about a different job a couple of weeks ago. The pay was good. Unusually good, and I knew from the beginning it was suspicious. I took as many precautions as possible when I had to go to the rendezvous, but obviously I wasn't careful enough," and he scowled down at his injured body as though it had betrayed him.

"It was Cobol. And they weren't exactly happy to see me," said Arthur delicately, and Ariadne tensed, knowing they were approaching a point where Arthur might not want to go any further. "They wanted to let me know how they didn't except failure. Well, they certainly did that..." Arthur's mouth closed in a hard line, "but I knew something was wrong. If it was just about the job we'd failed, they would have killed me by the end of the day. They wanted-" he stopped suddenly, face twisted into a pained grimace. Ariadne's hand fluttered uselessly over him.

"What? Arthur what is it?" she panicked when he didn't immediately reply.

"Help...help me up, please," he muttered, and Ariadne instantly moved up the pillows behind his head and, holding onto his good arm and easing him upright. Arthur's face had gone paler, and his eyes were clenched shut.

"They wanted me to help them perform inception on Cobb," he whispered hoarsely, so quietly that Ariadne barely heard it. She froze in shock.

"Shit..." she breathed, eyes on Arthur's pained face.

"Yeah, well, I thought so too," said Arthur quietly, eyes opening and a small half-smile on his lips. "I told them they could do their worst but I would never betray him...Bad choice of words as it turned out..."

Ariadne, afraid to touch any other part of him, took his hand in hers again, trying to offer some comfort.

"I don't really remember much after that, only that I was there for a while and then Eames turned up. He'd got himself caught, the idiot in order to find where I was, but he was in better condition, stronger than me, and _angry_..." Arthur emphasised the word in such a way that made Ariadne shiver. She had never seen Eames properly angry, and now she was pretty sure she didn't want to.

"And, well, people always make the mistake of under-estimating Eames..." and Arthur was smiling now, and shaking his head slightly in disbelief. Ariadne grinned at that, because she had certainly made that mistake too.

"We were there for a while, but Eames had called in a few people who owed him, and somehow, he got us out. He contacted Cobb, told him to get into hiding, and then decided to inform me that we were flying back to Paris and I really didn't have much choice in the matter, because he'd already told you we were coming." Arthur chuckled softly, before breaking off into shuddering coughs.

"What he _did_ forget to tell me was the correct time he'd be arriving, factoring in the bloody time difference..." she muttered, but she knew she sounded so ridiculously affectionate that her words meant nothing. Arthur smiled, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

"So, I assume that you are together?" Arthur asked, gesturing between Eames and Ariadne. She watched his expression, suddenly anxious, as though he might not approve, but he was still smiling gently, and his voice held no trace of resentment and judgment- only slight amusement.

"...Well, I mean- we haven't _talked_ about it, but, I suppose so...Yes." she stuttered weakly, and Arthur nodded knowingly.

"He'll look after you, that's for sure, and his heart is in the right place," Arthur said it so seriously that Ariadne was almost pained to be reminded just how kind and sincere he was. "But," he added, grinning mischievously, "I honestly think you could do better Ariadne- someone with a more refined sense of humour perhaps? Better taste in fashion?"

"Oi- m'awake you know," came the sleepy protest from the bed, and Ariadne jumped slightly. She made brief eye contact with Arthur- just how _long_ had he been listening?

"And my sense o'humour is perfeckly refined," Eames mumbled grumpily into the pillow and Arthur laughed, putting Ariadne at ease.

"You lie Eames- what did you say to me when they were taking me into surgery? 'Break a leg' was it?" Arthur asked, grinning.

Ariadne groaned in exasperation, "Eames-tell me you _didn't_-"

"I was trying to lighten the bloody atmosphere!" Eames opened his eyes and glared at the two of them, "Christ- it felt more like a fucking _mortuary_ than a hospital..." and he shifted into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes drowsily.

"Eames- no-one laughed. It was the coldest reception to a joke in history." Arthur reminded him.

"Yeah well, Americans have an odd perception of what's funny anyway- they think people _falling_ _over_ are classed as entertainment," said Eames, a look of disgust on his face, as if this was the strangest thing he'd ever heard of.

Ariadne laughed, and got up to move round the bed towards him. Eames caught her wrist and pulled him down next to her, kissing her lightly on the lips and then the cheek.

Ariadne glanced nervously up at Arthur, unsure of his reaction, but he was just smiling at the ceiling, clearly very amused.

"Arthur?" she asked warily.

"Go ahead- it doesn't bother me, but if it gets too intimate, I swear I will die on you," he threatened, closing his eyes.

Eames chuckled. "I'd like to see you try _that_ darling, you're pumped with enough drugs to keep a dozen people breathing and interrupting perfectly reasonable kisses," and he moved back to kiss Ariadne's neck. She shivered involuntarily.

"Ah- Eames, you underestimate me. All I have to do is pull this wire out," he gestured, eyes still closed, to a thin red wire protruding from his wrist, "and the heart monitor will register that my heart has stopped beating. An alarm will go off and every doctor and nurse in a 3 corridor radius will be in this room in less than 20 seconds." Arthur fought to contain a smile, knowing he'd won.

Eames groaned in frustration. "You know Ariadne, I think I liked him better when he was unconscious..." he muttered.

"Eames!" Ariadne chided shaking her head. She hit his arm playfully, "you really know how to be inappropriate."

Eames raised a single eyebrow at her, a smirk playing on his lips- and Ariadne hit him again, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"Ariadne- if you value my sanity, you will have hit him just now," Arthur said from the bed, eyes still closed.

Ariadne giggled, and Eames sighed, leaning against her.

"I can't believe I asked him to come and stay with us when he gets out..." Eames grumbled into Ariadne's shoulder.

"Really? Arthur's coming to stay?" Ariadne asked delightedly.

"Well- he's going to be bloody bedridden for a few months, and I had to sign on the forms saying I was his next of kin- 'Brother', Ariadne, 'Brother'" he told her quickly at her amused expression.

"We'd be happy to have you Arthur," she said loudly, grinning at Eames' face.

"Thank-you Ariadne, I'll try and keep out of the way," came Arthur's sincere reply.

Eames sighed dramatically and fell back on the bed.

"Why?" he asked no-one in particular, scowling at the ceiling.

"Now come on Eames, you love us really," Ariadne scolded him humouredly, patting his leg.

Eames didn't deny it straight away, and Arthur laughed from the bed.

"I can almost feel the emotional conflict from here Eames," he teased lightly.

"Shut-up you arse," Eames muttered, and pulled Ariadne down next to him. She stared at him expectantly. At his raised eyebrow, she gave him the _look_.

He gave another ridiculous sigh.

"I hate you both- but fine, if you bloody insist, _fine_." Ariadne grinned, and reached up to kiss up him on the cheek.

"Don't worry Eames, it's going to be fun," she insisted, and at Eames' oh-I-highly-doubt-that expression she laughed.

Maybe- just maybe, things were going to turn out alright for once.

**(So sad it's over for now :( And i'm sorry for people who didn't want Arthur to make an appearence, but I love him too much to leave him out completely ;)**

**REVIEW! :D**


End file.
